Harry discovers he is a vampire, struggles to find the power Voldemort doesn't know, fulfill the prophecy and find his mate. But what if his mate is someone who he has to kill? What if his mate is none other than the Dark Lord himself? PostOotP

His
sixteenth birthday. Sixteen years before, he had been born. Harry
Potter, Boy-Who-Lived.

The
sunlight was streaming through his bedroom window and illuminated his
rather small room. Normally, people liked the way the sun seeped into
the room and Harry wasn't an exception, but today, it didn't lighten
his mood at all, somehow it worsened it. His sixteenth birthday. He
would have congratulated himself normally, but he just didn't feel
like it. He just wished Sirius was there. He wasn't, and this year he
wasn't even going to get any letters from his godfather. This was
because said man was dead. Fallen through the veil at the Department
of Mysteries. Because of him...

Harry
shook his head. He didn't want to fall into a depression... again. He
had been depressed all summer but had vowed he would stop when he
turned sixteen as he now needed to think about a way to defeat
Voldemort. At the age of sixteen wizards got their inheritance. Not
only their financial, but also their magical. Now, Harry had to find
the power Voldemort didn't know and defeat that bastard.

He
got up and went into the bathroom to shower. Afterwards he threw on
some clothes that once belonged to Dudley and were quite a few sizes
too big and raced down the stairs for breakfast. He had to be quick.
If he wasn't, he wouldn't get anything to eat as punishment for being
late.

Arriving
in the kitchen and casting a quick glance at the clock that hung on
the opposite wall, he found he was two minutes late. Shit.
Probably... probably he could ask for some food in exchange for doing
additional chores... Advancing to the table around which the Dursleys
sat without even acknowledging him, he spoke up.

„Uncle
Vernon, if I do some additional chores today, could I get some
breakfast?"

Even
before he had finished the sentence, he knew that he wouldn't be
getting anything. Probably more chores, but most certainly not
breakfast. His uncle glared at him for interrupting their breakfast
and asking such a thing.

„Who
do you think you are, asking for food? You don't deserve it! You and
your kind deserve nothing but death! You taint this house with your
abnormality and should be very thankful we took you in, feed and
clothe you!" Vernon was outraged.

Harry
was furious. He hated being called a freak or abnormal, because, in
some way, he was. Not even in the wizarding world did he fit in. He
endured this bashing and bullying without showing that it really hurt
him to be called like that. He would never show his uncle of course.
It was a weakness he wouldn't do any good revealing. He was fuming
inwardly and looked as if it didn't affect him at all on the outside.

That's
what he thought.

But
it somehow showed, because Vernon's eyes widened in fear and he
retreated a few steps his eyes locked on Harry's face. Dudley too was
looking fearful and Petunia screamed.

Confused,
Harry looked around to see the source of their fear, but saw nothing.
They eyes were on him and Petunia now trembled. A drop of sweat made
its way down Vernon's face and left behind a wet, glistering trail.
Harry could see all the lines on Petunia's face, were they because of
age or because of the contortion of her face. And Dudley's fearful
controlled breathing seemed to be unnaturally loud to Harry. He
frowned. They were probably fearing he would tell the order of their
negation to give him something to eat. He wouldn't tell the order. He
didn't want people around him now. He wasn't in a mood to deal with
them.

He
calmed down a bit and wondering once again why the Dursleys had
looked so shocked, he climbed up the stairs. „You... you freak! You
monster! Get out of my house!" Vernon shouted behind Harry but
didn't shout anything else, so Harry assumed he had been silenced by
Petunia. After all, the neighbours were quite nosy.

„I'm
no freak, I'm not abnormal, nor a monster..." he muttered to
himself, still slightly enraged.

He
stalked into his room and sat down on the floor opposite the mirror.
He wasn't a monster, he was just a boy, a boy who happened to have
the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.

They
always treated him like something that didn't deserve to live, like a
bug. He had feelings too, didn't they know that?

Looking
into the mirror, he saw a flash of something. Something was wrong
with his face. He scrambled over to the mirror but still couldn't
discern what it was. Discarding it as nothing, he smiled a reassuring
smile at himself, to feel more comfortable. That's when he saw what
looked so wrong on his features. His teeth. His canines were
elongated and looked really sharp and his normally emerald-green eyes
were partially silver. He didn't look like he was smiling
reassuringly. He gaped.

Harry
let himself fall on his bed and proceeded to stare at the ceiling as
if there was something interesting up there. He was a vampire. That
was for sure. They had learnt enough about them in Defense against
the Dark Arts for Harry to be able to identify one if he saw one.

But...
how? How could he, the ultimate fighter for the light, be a dark
creature? Would he tell anyone? How would he survive? He needed blood
- and the daylight... wait. No.

Vampires
weren't really harmed by the sunlight. Their skin tolerated the
light, but only for a certain measure.

In
DADA they had learnt the reason why vampires dressed in black. The
colour absorbed the sunlight quite well and therefore shielded them
of the sunlight. The clothes too had to absorb some moonlight at a
full moon to work properly. Harry didn't exactly know what happened
if a vampire went outside without the black clothes on, but he too
wasn't keen to find out. Still in this slightly dazed state, he went
to get all of his black clothes. A glance onto his astronomy-calendar
which showed that a full moon would be up in a week's time.

How
was he supposed to do his chores when he wasn't able to go outside?
Probably he could ask the Dursleys if he could do the chores whiches
had to be done outside, at night.

And
on the full moon he would prepare his black clothes. Unfortunately,
he didn't own many black clothes. Only one pair of black trousers and
two shirts. He made a mental note to buy some more when he went to
Diagon alley.

His
fangs could shorten if he willed them to and lengthen, when he needed
them. He did so a few times in front of the mirror. He thought it
looked quite scary.

Suddenly,
he knew why the Dursleys had looked so horrified. They must have seen
his fangs...

Now,
the only question remaining was: how was he supposed to get blood?
The thought of biting into someone's neck was disgusting, but it was
only half as disgusting as thinking about actually drinking blood.

If
he told Dumbledore, he would be sent blood and could ask questions,
but why bother to ask Dumbledore about something? He would only tell
half-truths and keep things to himself. That's what he had done with
the prophecy. He hadn't told him till the end of last year.

Thinking
about it; could his inheritance as a vampire possibly be the power
he doesn't know? No, he decided. Voldemort knew about vampires.
It had to be something else. Dumbledore had once hinted it had
something to do with love. That, however, couldn't be it. It was too
far-fetched.

Little
did Harry know, how wrong he was with that assumption.

Do
you like it? Then, review. Don't you like it? Then, review and tell
me how I can do better. Do you hate it? Then, review and tell me.
Have you got any suggestions as for pairings or any questions? Then:
review.

Canary
Cream for everyone,

Taranis

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.